


Before Kilgrave

by Illusen



Category: Jessica Jones (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Ficlet, Help, I hope..., Other, Prequel, and I don't know how to tag stuff, before kilgrave, this is my first fanfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-15
Updated: 2015-12-15
Packaged: 2018-05-06 21:28:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5431400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Illusen/pseuds/Illusen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hope Shlottman had been born for so much more than martyrdom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Before Kilgrave

At 5, she’s picking at bruises. Her parents take her to the therapist’s office, so Hope stares at a yellow wall with a lollipop between her teeth. But the sugar goes sour in her mouth and she spits it right out before he even calls for her, keeps those brown eyes on his shoes the whole conversation. He’s not a bad man – he tells her mother not to worry after they’re done.

She’s only 10, and there’s a baby staring up at her. He’s got her blonde hair, papa’s brown eyes and a red face Hope is too afraid to touch. They call him Owen, like the grandfather she never met, and they push her hand until it touches his little one. He grasps at the air and brushes against her skin and then Hope knows. She’d do anything for her little baby brother – any day of their lives.

Hope is 12, and she’s going to fail chemistry. Straight down from the honour roll, spiralling into the abyss of mediocrity. The formulas got stuck at the tip of her pen just as the sobs in her throat and Martha smiled in the end; “Easy one, right?” Easy, easy, easy – she repeats the words until they’re pushing her down into the clean sheets along with her mother’s disappointment. Until no _I love you’_ s or _What happened_ ’s can keep her from being a shaking mess.

She’s 15. Her legs ache to the touch. She drained her lungs and clawed at her beauty for the sake of that last mile. Caked with sweat, red cheeks and pale blonde hair clinging to their surface. Hope runs those last few moments, and she is a goddamned **_winner._** “You’re on the team, kid.” A winner against her own body, against the pain that threatens to strike her down, against every fibber of her being that just wants her to be small, weak, pliant, pretty. Because Hope is _extraordinary_.

At 18, she’s the first to make it out. All her neighbours are there, and she pretends not to hear the whispers behind her back. _Such a pretty girl_ , they mumble, _if only she would smile more_. They are there for her father. Hope and her mom have always been a little too haughty, a little too demanding, too sharp for their peculiar tastes. It’s _congratulations_ on the banner, on their lips, before whispering that _New York will swallow her whole_. But it doesn’t matter. The words barely prickle at her skin, barely pierce the armour of knowing that she’s meant for greater things.

Hope is still 18, but Owen won’t let her go. He slips a plastic tiger onto her left hand, and she has to fight back her tears. “I’ll be back for Christmas, ok?”

Already 19, and there’s a girl’s hand between her legs. Hope likes the feeling, the warmth of her alcoholic breath against her own reddened cheeks. Lila, is her name, but she’s not sure she’ll remember it in the morning. All of the other girls are gone, scattered across the party. Hope knows they only took her so she wouldn’t tell the coach about it. But it doesn’t matter, because _this girl_ is warm and smooth, and smells faintly of Jasmine. And then her blood freezes, her skin turns to stone and no amount of perfume can keep the words from leaving her lips. “Stop.” Cold, final. They are gone, the hand and the heat, and for a moment there’s something akin to loneliness. But then the ache in her muscles reminds her that’s she’s in control. And she _lives_ for it. “I have practise tomorrow morning.”

That year, Rachel begins to stay over sometimes. They find some sort of comradery in the bottom of the ice cream buckets Hope can’t help but to frown at, in front of the screen she always abandons before managing a minute less than 7 hours of sleep. The other roommates are far too loud for their taste, so they find another apartment together. The label “best friend” comes out of a sort of necessity, but neither questions it.

So Hope is almost 20, and she’s going to have a party. Martha doesn’t think she knows about it, of course, and does a great job at faking curiosity during warmup. But she knows about Rachel’s plans to surprise her and she’s not too pleased. It’s too silly for her taste but she smiles and plays along... New York is lonely for everyone, after all.

And even after, long after her body is broken and her memories are scattered, Hope still remembers: the screeching of her sneakers against the ground, the purple blotch on the bleachers, the hollow face of the man she wouldn’t have looked twice at. She doesn’t see him, but he sees _her._

 

**There is before Kilgrave and after Kilgrave.**

 

She never makes it to the party.

**Author's Note:**

> I really fell for Hope. She wasn't particularly sweet or or "likeable" and I liked that the show made it clear that she didn't fucking HAVE to be. At the same time, I wish we had gotten to know more about her actual life and personality beyond the horrible things that had happened to her. So this is my attempt at it?  
> Anyway, this is my first fanfic, so sorry about anything that doesn't work :b


End file.
